George Freeman has done more than witness jazz history. He’s made it.
The musicians Freeman can count as one-time colleagues boggle the mind. Duke Ellington. Dexter Gordon. Sonny Stitt. Eugene Wright. And Count Basie, who “loved me, because I could swing,” Freeman recalls, with audible pride. He backed Charlie Parker during a now-lauded 1950 residency at the Pershing Ballroom — with his brother Eldridge “Bruz” Freeman on drums — and was a regular in Gene Ammons’ band, writing the tenor saxophonist’s hit “The Black Cat.”
When Freeman headlines the Green Mill this weekend, he’ll be celebrating not just his 96th birthday — yes, you read that right — but the release of a new record. With “The Good Life” (HighNote Records), the nonagenarian can add a couple more eminences to his list: He’s joined by bassist Christian McBride, drummers Carl Allen and Lewis Nash, and the late organ great Joey DeFrancesco, in what was one of his last studio sessions before his death last year.
But this time around, Freeman is the bandleader. And all those names wanted to play with him.
“I wanted to play with (DeFrancesco) in the first place, and McBride had heard about me. They all knew me! That’s what made it so great,” he says.
That’s a big deal for Freeman, whose career was often overshadowed by that of his older brother, tenor sax titan Von Freeman. Growing up on Chicago’s South Side, all three Freeman brothers benefited hugely from a nurturing musical milieu, soaking up late-night jazz radio with their father and passing through Capt. Walter Dyett’s rigorous band program at DuSable High School. George slyly maintains that of his brothers, he was Dyett’s “favorite,” even getting invited to join his swing orchestra.
Bruz decamped for the West Coast, but Von and George remained close, living together at the Freeman family home in Grand Crossing for decades. The two brothers were both agnostic about chasing marquee fame elsewhere, however, and eventually returned home for good.
“We all went to New York to be recognized … but you couldn’t have paid me to stay there,” Freeman says.
An experimentalist at heart, Freeman has good reason to suspect he was occasionally too out-there for some of the bandleaders he backed much of his career. By his 20s, he was among the first musicians in Chicago, and one of the first jazz guitarists anywhere, to throw himself into the bleeding-edge bebop style of his idol, Charlie Parker. Freeman refers frequently to “going out” in his playing — shorthand for his harmonically venturesome, angular solos — and admits he conceptualizes the guitar as a horn in order to perfect his singular sound. Others have picked up on that: During a gig with Coleman Hawkins, the tenor saxophonist once bellowed at him to “Blow!“
“I had a hard time. My playing has always been so advanced. They were putting everybody above me,” Freeman remembers. “It wasn’t my time, because I came home. I was always coming home.”
Freeman has been a vivacious omnipresence on the jazz circuit here since Von’s death in 2012. His reemergence was egged on by drummer Mike Reed, who sought a band for a residency at his then-new venue Constellation, and guitarist Mike Allemana, a protégé of Von’s. The two guitarists joined forces for the first time for that 2013 Constellation residency and have never looked back. The following year, this paper named Freeman its Chicagoan of the Year in Jazz, commemorating his career renaissance, and his birthday fête at Green Mill has become a beloved annual tradition.
Now, with an eight decade-long career to reflect upon — and a new album stacked with “big boys,” as he calls jazz superstars — Freeman is starting to think a little fame might be nice. Though his playing is prized by aficionados, Freeman’s fame is not yet commensurate with his influence.
“It’s just going to another level, really. When you get a New York City record label to support you, you get a better chance at being heard,” he says.
“The Good Life” features mostly Freeman’s originals. The oldest, “Lowe Groovin,'” was first recorded in 1947 with Joe Morris and Johnny Griffin, though Morris originally claimed composition credits. (“The Good Life” corrects the record.) “Up and Down” gives everyone in the band a solo spotlight, and Freeman, of course, “goes out” in his. “Mr. D” was written for DeFrancesco in gratitude after the organist invited Freeman to join him for a Jazz Showcase gig.
Freeman would’ve shared his actual birthday, April 10, with DeFrancesco, 44 years his junior. Instead, he was heartbroken by the news of the multi-instrumentalist’s sudden passing last year.
“It really, really hurt me. He was such a genuine and kindhearted person. Musicians have that jealousy thing — I can’t stand it myself — but he had none of that. When he was playing, I tried to make it sound like his record when I comped behind him. But he made it sound like my record, the way he played that organ behind me,” Freeman remembers. “They’re just wonderful people. I’m glad I got the chance to record with them, in case I do no more recording.”
If this is indeed Freeman’s swan song, it’s one he hopes will be heard far and wide. When our time is up, he flashes a boyish grin and waves. “Thanks for coming by. Say something nice about me, now!”
We all should. It’s about time.
“George Freeman’s 96th Birthday Bash” will have concert sets at 8:30 p.m. and 10:30 p.m. April 7 and 8 at the Green Mill, 4802 N. Broadway Ave.; $20, more information at greenmilljazz.com. Copies of “The Good Life” will be available with a wider release in early June.
Hannah Edgar is a freelance writer.
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